


Must Have Been Something You Said.

by kotabear24



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anger Management, Basically Harry gets off on Louis being domestic, But it is mentioned., Cancer, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Kink, Engineer!Louis, Explicit Sexual Content, Frottage, Hand Jobs, M/M, Marriage, Mention of Chemotherapy, Minor Violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Rimming, Same-Sex Marriage, Smut, The child abuse is NOT graphic at all., beware., health scare, minor character illness, scientist!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-04
Updated: 2014-04-04
Packaged: 2018-01-18 02:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1411699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kotabear24/pseuds/kotabear24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry apparently gets erections from toothbrushes and Mr. Clean magic erasers. Louis' just trying to do this 'emotional display' thing right.</p><p>Or, four times Harry gets off on Louis being domestic and one time they get domestic together.</p><p>Title from Cutting Crew's 'Just Died in Your Arms Tonight).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Must Have Been Something You Said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm basically going to hell because I got the idea for this fic from my little brother's _Clifford: Puppy Days_ DVD; the theme song says "Love makes little things grow" and apparently that's all it took, for over ten thousand words of fluff and smut between two grown men (and somehow an actual background story, like wtf?) to come to life.

1). It’s not that Louis has commitment issues; he really doesn’t. Harry had thought that, at first, which led to him waking Gem up at 2a.m. with a worried phone call, asking if he should back out before he got in too deep with this man who held himself back so far. After all, Harry has always been a very romantic kind of person, very impatient to have a marriage and a family, settle down with a man with whom he is madly in love and have a life together; should he really be with someone who doesn’t want the same things? 

Louis had heard the conversation, though, and made him a cup of tea and talked it out with Harry, quiet and nervous. It wasn’t that he was afraid to settle down and tie himself to one person forever or have a family; he actively _wanted_ that. But – as Harry finally learned, that night – he’d been left _twice_ as a boy to be the man of the house, and had learned quickly not to show too much emotion. 

He’s gotten better about it, by now, and Harry feels cherished every single day, having learned the way Louis shows his affection. It’s a little different from Harry’s way, but they complement each other beautifully, and Harry knows he’s in love and has for about a month or two, now. 

Louis and Harry have been dating about eight months, and Louis stays at Harry’s apartment about as much as he does his own. It’s natural, what with Harry’s place being closer to Louis’ office (by about ten minutes, but whatever). It’s just easier to meet up with Harry after Harry’s off and drive home together. Better for the economy, and it’s not as if Harry’s going to complain about it. Harry knows Louis’ not quite ready to say he’s in love, but Harry’s already accepted that he’s there. It was inevitable, really, with how light and driven he feels when Louis smiles at him and is around him, like all the worries in Harry’s day don’t matter as much and he’s given almost a second wind of determination to clean the nation’s water supply. It’s what he’s working toward, anyway, at Johns Hopkins, and though Louis knows not much at all about water research, he’s always been so supportive and wanted the best for Harry. 

It’s a rushed Monday morning, and Harry’s running late after a power outage the night before – typical Baltimore, really – and being eternally jealous that Louis doesn’t have to get up for another two hours ( _fancy engineer who sets his own hours_ , he thinks only a little bitterly) when it happens. It’s the first time Harry wonders. 

He sees it.

Right there, in Harry’s bathroom, in Harry’s toothbrush holder, next to Harry’s purple and green toothbrush…is a navy blue one. It’s familiar; it’s one Harry’s seen at least three times a week, in Louis’ apartment. It’s not the disposable ones Louis just buys when he does his shopping, knowing he’ll leave for work from Harry’s apartment just as much as he will from his own, rendering having something to brush his teeth with very necessary. 

But those are the crappy, flimsy ones, and come in a travel tube-thing, and usually stay in Louis’ overnight bag. This one – this one is the same as Louis’ toothbrush at his own place, his _actual_ toothbrush, and looks exactly the same except the bristles are a little more firm, because Louis probably bought this one new from the store last week when he did his shopping. He must have brought it over from then, and _put it in Harry’s toothbrush holder_. 

And Harry’s hard. He is _so_ hard in his khaki pants, and he’s washing his face at the sink with the Olay moisturizing facial foam Louis teases him for and he’s hard, his cock a very visible and (not to sound too arrogant) very noticeable, and Harry nearly gets water and foam all over his leather belt because he’s too busy staring at the toothbrush to wipe off his chest when he splashes his face. He catches himself at the last minute, though, and mutters a curse as he grabs the hand towel to wipe his torso off, patting his face dry. 

It’s that _damned_ toothbrush. And, like, Harry’s never felt as though he’s into any weird sex things, like. He’s never wanted to be beaten or, you know, dressed up as a cat or slapped in the face, but Harry is definitely probably having sexual thoughts because of a toothbrush, and it’s a little alarming. He needs Louis; needs him _now_.

Making a split decision, Harry decides to be late for work. The power outage would have affected at least half of Baltimore, if not all of it, most likely, so, with a smile and coffee for his bosses, Harry can probably get away with being late… _r_. Later.

He leaves the bathroom in a sort of daze, working his fingers through the metal and leather to take off his belt, pulling it through the straps in an easy, practiced move, and he’s just nudging the door open with his toes as he unbuttons his pants, letting them and his briefs drop like dead flies. He steps out of them, not minding that he trips up a little, because Louis’ not even awake yet. 

“Lou,” Harry sort-of whispers as he slides his body along the bed, army crawling his way up towards his boyfriend. “Lou, Louis, babe.”

Louis groans and bats at Harry, hitting him gently in the face, and presses his nose repeatedly, making Harry’s voice sound nasally when he repeats his name again. Louis groans again, pressing on Harry’s nose with the flat of his palm this time. “Snooze,” he mumbles. “Go ‘way, go to work. Mute. _Snooze_ , five more minutes.”

Harry huffs out a laugh and scoots forward, gathering Louis’ hand gently and leaning in, pressing his lips against Louis’. Louis makes a vaguely interested noise and tilts his face up, and he lets Harry lick into his mouth, though he pulls away briefly and mumbles, “Haz, haven’t even brushed m’teeth, ‘s gross.”

The mention of teeth brushing sends an almost painful throb through Harry’s hardened cock and he moans, rolling on top of Louis, pushing him over onto his back and shoving the blanket off of him. Louis whines a little at the cold, but welcomes Harry’s warmth, running greedy hands all over Harry’s back and wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist, humming a pleased sound when he feels Harry’s erection rubbing against his own half-hard cock. 

“Don’t care,” Harry says into Louis’ mouth, and kisses him aggressively, desperate to have Louis as close as possible. “Lou – Lou, can I eat you out? Please, can I eat you out? I need it, need it so bad.” Louis groans as Harry starts talking, nodding and pressing his fingers into Harry’s back hard enough to leave temporary marks, and Harry presses sloppy kisses all down Louis’ chest and stomach, thanking him as he goes.

He pauses when he reaches Louis’ cock, hard and a little redder than usual, and jerks him a few times to take a little of the edge off, but he really can’t wait anymore. He hitches Louis’ _gorgeous_ thighs up over his shoulders, only pressing a kiss to one of them before he’s pulling Louis’ cheeks apart and going straight to it.

Louis’ beautiful when he’s getting rimmed. He’s beautiful all the time, really, but Harry loves when Louis lets him eat him out, because he’s extra vulnerable, or something. It’s not often Louis lets Harry do it – doesn’t even often let Harry just focus on giving him pleasure, rather than them sharing it together, even though Louis _loves_ to focus on making Harry feel good – so Harry always feels lucky to have Louis’ legs over his shoulders. Louis’ back arches and he breathes differently, his eyes squeeze shut and he always chews hard on his lip, trying hard not to make much noise, and his movements are always jerky, like they’re disobeying his mind and acting involuntarily, and it drives Harry insane. 

Harry laps gently at Louis’ hole and the skin around it, getting him wet and keeping him wet, pressing his face deep into Louis’ cheeks even though his tongue’s not going deep, not yet. Louis loves this. Harry can hear a continuous popping sound, and knows Louis’ curling his toes and rolling his feet in circles because Louis’ left ankle pops every time he rolls it to the inside, like he must be doing. Harry feels fingers knotting up in his hair, not tugging yet, and points his tongue to focus just on Louis’ hole. 

Louis grunts once, a quiet sound, and Harry smiles internally at the sound, glad to have pulled it from him. He moves his tongue in tight little circles, heady at the taste of Louis, and can’t resist moving his hands all over Louis’ legs and stomach, grabbing at his hips and tweaking a nipple once. Harry presses his tongue in, just a little, and wraps a hand around Louis’ cock at the same time so that the hands in Harry’s hair curl and pull, his hips circling jerkily, trying to get more. With his other hand, Harry (regretfully) lets go of Louis’ thigh and rubs his finger on Louis’ hole, next to his tongue. He listens and Louis draws a shaky breath when Harry slides his finger in, letting saliva drop from his mouth to ease the way for Louis.

Louis arches just enough for Harry to notice, his still-sleepy voice low and scratchy when he mumbles Harry’s name. Harry can tell he’s close, and starts rubbing off on the mattress as he fingers and licks Louis out, curling his finger into Louis’ prostate while he keeps his hole messy and wet, jerking Louis with his other hand. 

Louis tenses when Harry starts humming against him, and Louis’ ankle gives an almighty _click_ behind Harry’s neck as he licks him through the orgasm, the friction against the sheets on his own cock doing wonders for him. Harry rests his face in the crease of Louis’ inner thigh, mouthing at it gently and breathing heavily while he humps the mattress until he comes onto it, shuddering and hissing until he’s lax and fulfilled. Louis’ fingers pet gently through Harry’s sweaty curls. 

“What the _hell_ brought that on?” Louis asked, breathless.

It’s a fair question. Harry’s usually against morning sex on work days, because it always leaves him – well, leaves him feeling the way he feels now: tired, sleepy, sated, and fucked out, all unacceptable for a job requiring such specific scientific observational skills as his. Still, Harry doesn’t really know how to answer it. “ _I found your toothbrush next to mine and it made me desperate for you_ ” just doesn’t the most rational ring to it, and Harry’s nothing, if not rational. 

So, he just crawls up Louis’ body, grinning, and kisses him, long and filthy and delicious, before pressing two more smaller, sweeter kisses to his lips, and promptly crawls off the bed to get ready for work…again. 

As he flicks water through his curls to pat them down a bit, he hears Louis groan – probably realizing he doesn’t have time to go back to sleep before he has to get ready, himself – and decidedly does _not_ get aroused again at the sight of the fucking toothbrush.

2). Work’s been getting crazier and crazier, Harry’s team looking at the effects that plastic and other non-biodegradable materials have on the contextual makeup of water. The team leader (Harry’s boss), Nick, thinks they’re really onto something, now that Harry’s realized there’s a link between most of the materials and water after long exposure to them, sort of like a footprint or a big neon sign that reads, “ _I’m non-biodegradable, and I’ve been leaking my toxins into your ocean’s water for a very, very long time, killing off your marine life and sinking the quality of your water. Hi!_

So Harry’s been staying later and later, coming home with just enough time to make dinner before either he or Louis starts crying like a starving child in a third-world country. (Alright, it’s _really_ not that bad, but when Harry’s trying to save the world via water research, he forgets to take lunch breaks sometimes.)

Louis’ still supportive, of course. He still asks how Harry’s day went, still tries to remember the right information and ask Harry questions about it. He makes awful mistakes when he tries to speak scientifically, bless him, but he tries so hard to remember that Harry can’t even laugh about it in his head; he just graces over Louis’ mistakes and talks about it. Louis lets him – Harry wonders, sometimes, if he’s actually genuinely interested in Harry’s research. Sure, he gets a lot of things wrong, but he always remembers Harry’s enthusiasm (or lack thereof) when Harry’s team starts new projects and studies, and he asks an awful lot of questions, responding and asking follow-on ones if he doesn’t understand. That’s the thing about Louis, Harry supposes: even though water science is _not_ his thing, he wants to understand, and makes the effort. It’s one of the ways he shows his love, Harry’s learned, so Harry tries to remember to do the same thing about Louis’ engineering, even though he feels like it’s a completely foreign world to him and it really isn’t something he’s into. (Harry read a book once that said if you figure out how your partner shows their love, you should try and respond in kind, sometimes, because that’s most often how they perceive love, as well. Harry does his best.)

But it’s also getting closer to the informational deadline, when Johns Hopkins’ Board of Science trustees are going to visit and see the projects Harry’s team’s been working on over the past six months since their last visit, and read the results and decide, basically, if the team is good enough to keep funding or not. Harry knows he’s a good scientist, and knows his team is good, as well, and that they’ve been making scientific headway and have even had some work published in a few science journals – Harry’s _name_ had been in one, for finding that link – but the Board of Science trustees literally decide if Harry will have a job in three months, when their decisions come back. It’s a stressful thing, is all. Harry’s been babbling nervously over dinner for a week, now, and they’re not even due to visit for another one passes. 

Louis’ been texting him since six, telling him to come home, mentioning that they both need to eat dinner once he finds out Harry skipped lunch again and only had time to snag a banana on the way out, and Harry’s feeling just a little frustrated. He doesn’t mind cooking most nights for himself and Louis – he loves it, really, and it’s honestly the only way he knows Louis’ at least not surviving on grease-soaked Big Macs because the man’s never cooked a meal in his life, but. As Harry parks his car in his spot, he kind of finds himself thinking that if Louis’ so hungry, he could always order in or go get something, rather than keep texting Harry.

Those thoughts fade away when he reaches his floor and smalls some sort of meat-cheese combination he’s not smelled before, and by the time Harry’s unlocking his apartment door, he’s wondering what the smell is. 

“Harry! You’re home,” Louis says, hopping up from his spot on the couch and jogging goofily towards Harry, hugging him briefly before backing up and giving him room to breathe. Harry stares at the kitchen, a little bewildered, but Louis says nothing as he pulls Harry’s coat off his arms and hangs it up for him. “Come on, I’m starving,” Louis says, and Harry finds himself being pushed into a kitchen table chair while Louis disappears again. 

He comes back in seconds, a plate in each heat-resistant gloved hand, and sets one down in front of Harry, the other in front of his own seat. “Dig in, dig in,” Louis says, urging Harry to look away from Louis’ face and down at the plate. 

It’s some sort of lightly-breaded ham, stuffed with what looks like chicken and some sort of cheese – provolone? – and a heaping side of mashed potatoes and a few drained pears. The ham’s a bit burned on one side, positively charred on the bottom left corner, and just by looking, Harry can spot a few pieces of potato skin, and it’s obvious that Louis made this meal, most likely completely by himself. Harry finds himself choked up and touched at his efforts, but he also finds himself hard in his pants.

“Don’t eat anything you don’t want,” Louis babbles, looking like he’s feeling defensive but trying not to act it, and Harry grabs his hand on top of the table, brushing his thumb over Louis’ wrist. 

“Did you make this on your own?” Harry asks, having to clear his throat first. Louis nods. 

“It’s just that I know you’ve been stressed, lately, and, you know.” He shrugs, like he can shake off the monumentality of what this is for him or Harry. “I saw it on that shit cooking show you’re obsessed with, anyway, so. I burned it, a little, too, so – sorry, about that. There’s another piece and I’d offer you it, but that one’s a little more burned, and mine’s pretty bad off, too.”

Harry just smiles at him, but Louis obviously won’t shut up until he gets Harry’s reaction to the food, so Harry cuts a piece off and places it on his tongue. It’s really not bad at all. Harry could do better, but he spent most of his childhood figuring out how to cook, both out of necessity and because, back then, he’d thought being all “housewife-y” was kind of a requirement to being gay.

“It’s really good, Louis,” Harry says around his food, and Louis shoves an enormous forkful of mashed potatoes in his mouth so he doesn’t have to answer immediately. 

“Just, you know. Gotta take care of you, and all. Make sure you don’t pass out on me, with the way they’re working you over there.”

And it happens again. 

Harry’s got a raging erection under the kitchen table, squirming and his neck getting hot because something about the fact that Louis cooked an entire meal for him because he wants to help take care of Harry – even the passive-aggressive complaining about Harry’s job is doin it for Harry, honestly, what the hell? 

“Don’t eat too much tonight,” Harry mumbles, and Louis pauses with a forkful of food near his lips.

After a few seconds, he resumes, filling his mouth again, but he asks, “Why’s that, Harry? Got plans with me tonight? _Sexy_ plans?” Harry rolls his eyes, but Louis reaches over and picks a pear off of Harry’s plate and eats it, and Harry has to swallow. 

He manages to finish his food, swallowing the bits of potato skin because Louis’ watching him curiously, probably wondering why Harry’s not thinking about the Board – and it’s because all Harry can think about is Louis cooking for him, taking care of him quietly and selflessly. By the time Harry’s finished his dinner, he’s fully hard, straining against his khakis, and when Harry stands to take his plate to the sink, Louis gasps, immediately noticing it. 

While Harry’s rinsing off his plate, he feels hands come around his waist. Louis’ up on his tiptoes, craning his neck to whisper in Harry’s ear. “My half-charcoal dinner got you so hard, babe?”

Harry blushes, tensing up and opens his mouth to vehemently deny it, but remembers he couldn’t lie to save his life. The thing is, he’s still figuring it out. This is the same kind of irrational tug behind his naval that he felt when he saw Louis’ toothbrush there, in his bathroom, for the first time, and the thought of Louis _thinking of him_ earlier this evening enough to make him a meal because he’s been stressed and not eating well enough lately…that does something to Harry he doesn’t quite know how to explain. It’s not like picturing Louis in a pair of white, lacy underwear – that’s something Harry could understand, being attracted to. But this?

“Harry?”

Instead of answering, Harry whips around suddenly, turning in Louis’ arms and pushes them against the opposite counter, pressing Louis between his hops and the counter, and kisses the daylights out of him. 

Louis makes a surprised, happy sound against Harry’s lips, hands placing themselves lightly on his hips as Harry licks into his mouth. Louis’ fingers move to Harry’s belt, deftly unbuckling it without even breaking the kiss off, and Harry feels his hips twitch towards Louis’ small hands, desperate for attention. 

Louis drops to his knees and pulls Harry’s briefs down as he goes, letting Harry push his fingers through his hair, and blinks up at Harry, looking like he’s waiting for something. “Please, suck my cock, Lou,” Harry tries, and it works. 

Louis smirks up at him, satisfied with himself, and takes Harry’s hard cock in his hand, stroking it a few times and then nuzzles it against his cheek, humming and rubbing the soft skin of Harry’s dick against his lips and nose and cheeks. He glances up a little reproachfully when Harry jerks his hips in encouragement, and Harry blinks down apologetically, biting his lip and nodding to show Louis that he understands. 

Louis starts off teasing, running the very tip of his tongue around the head of Harry’s cock, giving him barely any pressure and paying special attention to the ridge under Harry’s head, driving him crazy with the need to thrust up into Louis’ mouth. He doesn’t, thankfully, which Louis must appreciate, because he hums and takes Harry deep all of a sudden, sucking hard as he pulls back off, not bothering to bob his head quite yet. 

Harry stands in the middle of the kitchen with his boyfriend’s mouth on his cock, and stares up at the fluorescent light on the ceiling as he thinks about Louis, Louis, Louis. Flashes of the toothbrush pass through Harry’s mind, as well as imaginary views of Louis as he must have been earlier, pushing the chicken into the oven and mashing potatoes in a Tupperware bowl. 

Louis wraps his hand around the shaft of Harry’s dick, lips still pursed around the head of Harry’s cock, sucking on it, and jerks his hand so fast it’s a blur and Harry’s already pretty close, feeling the way Louis’ sucking him like he’ll flatten out like a pancake if he sucks enough from Harry. 

Louis lets go of Harry’s cock and massages his balls as he places hot, open-mouthed kisses on Harry’s stomach, and Harry sees Louis smirk when he realizes the muscles beneath his lips are quivering with how good it feels. “Wanna come on my face?” Louis asks, and Harry nearly falls over, scrambling to nod hopefully, eyes wide. In all their months together, Louis’ never offered that, and Harry never thought he wanted it badly enough to ask. 

“Come on, then,” Louis says, jerking Harry quickly and wrapping his lips around the head. He sucks hard, and Harry thinks of the toothbrush and Louis thinking about him after work today again and he only lasts a few more minutes before he has to pull Louis off his cock by the fingers in his hair. 

“Fuck,” Harry grunts, coming in streaks across Louis’ lips and cheek. “Fuck, thank you, Louis, thank you,” Harry says, sinking to his knees to scoop the come off with his fingers. Louis watches through dark eyes when Harry sucks his come-stained finger into his mouth, and when Harry scoops more up, he grabs Harry’s wrist and brings the finger into his own mouth, eyes fluttering shut as he sucks it off slowly, licking Harry’s finger like his come is a delicacy. There’s a little more, left under Louis’ right eye, so Harry extracts his finger and wipes it away, tentatively presenting it to Louis’ lips. He watches, fascinated, as Louis sucks the finger in again, trying not to whine because it’s so attractive. 

Harry pulls down Louis’ pants, pushing them down to the middle of his thighs, and sits up tall on his knees while he pulls Louis’ dick from his boxers. Harry kisses Louis hard, tasting his own come on Louis’ tongue, and jerks him off tight and steady, thumbing repetitively over the head, knowing that’s all it’ll take. Louis comes quietly over Harry’s hand and wrist, biting at Harry’s top lip and breathing heavily. 

Harry kisses him and stands, pulling Louis up with him, and they head to bed. Harry can do the dishes tomorrow. He’s got a heavy make-out session planned, followed by getting thoroughly fucked before bed.

3). Harry has never known Louis to be a jealous person. Sure, of course, Louis’ never invited people to check Harry out or fondle him, or whatever, but he’s always been a secure, mature adult who knows his boyfriend of eleven months ( _eleven_ , now, good God) is just as blissfully happy as he was when they got together, finally, and even more stable than back then. 

Louis’ never liked Nick, is the thing. Harry knows that, and that’s exactly why he doesn’t try to force his friend and his boyfriend to hang out. It’s different, with Zayn – Louis and Zayn get along so well, now, just like Harry does with Louis’ best friends, Niall and Liam – but Nick’s not Harry’s _best_ friend, though he is a good friend, so it’s not really all that big of a deal as long as they can tolerate each other. 

Harry suspects it’s because he’d told Louis that, before Nick had become their team’s leader, he’d had a huge crush on Harry. (Zayn had certainly never gotten drunk, kissed Harry, and told him he could see himself falling for Harry.) Harry had liked Nick a little, as well, but not enough, and he refrained from dating Nick because he felt like it would almost be leading him on. Nick had been okay with it – sure, it had been awkward for a little while, but Nick had found a great guy, fell a little bit in love with him, and had managed to salvage his friendship with Harry. They’d been fine for nearly three years, now, and though Louis never wants to tag along, he’s never expressly had an issue with them hanging out. 

But Greg’s broken up with Nick, and Nick, being far from the type to eat ice cream and cry on the couch watching bad cooking shows and playing with his dog (at least in front of anyone), begs Harry to go out and get blindingly drunk, dance, and be a wingman to get him rebound-fucked. Harry’s not a fan of the rebound part, not to mention that going out with who is technically his boss is a little unprofessional, but Nick was his friend before he was his boss, so he goes…and ends up bringing Nick back to his place to sleep on his sofa. Nick had nearly gotten off with some _really_ hot model-looking guy with an exotic accent, but Nick had gone and mentioned Greg, and the model lost interest pretty quickly, leading Nick to latch onto Harry for the ride home, moaning about being alone for the rest of his life. 

As Harry sets Nick down on his couch, Nick wraps his arms around Harry’s neck to get his attention, preventing Harry from standing up again. “What?” Harry asks, patting Nick’s hand a little patronizingly. He’s never seen Nick like this, really, and has decided that Nick had really loved Greg a lot more than he’d ever let on. 

“I’m going to die alone,” Nick says, his otherwise-calm voice trembling on the last word.

“Of course, you’re not, Nick,” Harry has whispers, mindful of the fact that Louis was probably already asleep in his room, the door to which was already open. “You’re not even thirty-five, yet. My mom didn’t find Robin until she was in her forties, and she’s the absolute happiest she’s ever been in her life.”

“But do they _fuck_ like they did when they were twenty?” Nick asks morosely, and Harry grimaces.

“My parents do _not_ have sex,” he lies to himself, reaching behind him to unlatch Nick’s hands and stand up. He bids Nick goodnight, but Nick calls his name and stands up, so Harry turns around just in time to have Nick grab his face and kiss him roughly, desperately.

Harry’s too shocked to react for a second, but then he realizes it’s _actually happening_ and pushes Nick off, backing away from him with eyes wide. He’s upset, he’s hurt, but mostly, he’s sad, because he doesn’t think their friendship is going to last much longer if Nick wakes up anything less than blackout-drunk with no recollection of this, because Harry can’t let him get away with it. He’s _committed_ to Louis.

Louis, who’s awake, and storming past Harry in rage, and punching Nick straight in the jaw, and following him down when he falls on his butt from the force of it. Harry suddenly recalls being a child and feeling very, very small, and helpless in a hauntingly similar situation, until he remembers he’s a grown man, now, and he’s not small or helpless. 

“Louis!” Harry shouts, rushing towards them. Nick’s trying to fight back, but he’s so drunk and, apparently, shocked, that he really can’t do much of anything, and when Harry’s hands close around Louis’ raised fist, he yanks, hard enough to pull Louis back off of him and onto the floor.

Louis scrambles up, still glaring at Nick, but Harry doesn’t even care. “What the _hell_ do you think you’re doing?” Harry shouts, completely infuriated. He doesn’t remember ever being this angry at anyone, much less _Louis_ , and he’s not sure he wants to see him right now. “Get out,” Harry adds, making Louis snap his head up from where he’s been looking at Nick, who’s clutching his face, to stare at Harry in complete shock. 

He reaches towards Harry, probably to grab his arm and placate him, but Harry flinches. It takes Louis a second, but when he remembers, he looks sickened with himself and completely horrified. “Harr-”

“ _Get out,_ ” Harry hisses, and Louis hesitates before moving back to Harry’s room. Harry crouches down to Nick, flicking the lamp on as he goes, and sees that it’s not too bad – nothing requiring medical attention – and hauls him up. He snags some tissues from the coffee table – Louis has _awful_ colds in Spring – and dabs at Nick’s slightly bloody nose and a cut on his cheekbone before laying him down on the couch again. Nick’s moaning a little in pain, and Harry says nothing as he walks away, towards his room. Nick doesn’t call him back, this time.

Louis’ getting his jeans buttoned when Harry reaches the doorway, packing his phone and wallet into his pockets, and he’s sniffling, wiping angrily at his face with his forearm. He catches sight of Harry and startles, a little, but keeps his distance from him, looking like Harry’s a wounded, wild animal. “Harry,” he begins, sounding wretched, and Harry shakes his head. 

“I know,” he says, and he does. He knows Louis didn’t mean to scare him; he knows Louis’ not Harry’s dad, and he knows Louis would _never_ hurt him. But Louis’ never been a violent person, ever, and Harry had never tolerated any sort of even play-violence in his life, not after his dad, and he just can’t look at Louis right now. “I know,” he repeats, and Louis’ fingers twitch like he wants to hold him, and Harry feels his throat start to ache, and he wants to cry, so he does, a little bit. 

He sinks to the floor, burying his face in his hands and curling his knees up, leaning against the door as he cries for a few minutes. 

Louis’ never been good with tears, and the only other time Harry’s cried in front of him – before they started dating, even – was when Zayn’s grandfather had died, and Harry, who’d practically lived with Zayn’s grandparents for part of his adolescence, hadn’t been able to say goodbye. Louis had patted Harry’s shoulder very, very awkwardly, and said things like, “He’s in a better place” and “I’m sure he would’ve understood, Hazza.” 

When Harry’s been crying a few minutes, though, he feels arms slide, agonizingly slowly, around his balled-up form, pulling him into Louis’ lap. Louis doesn’t kiss him, but he wipes tears away and apologizes over and over again, murmuring assurances and encouragements until Harry finally stops, completely exhausted and suffering an enormous stress migraine. Harry scoots out of Louis’ lap, then, knowing his legs are probably numb by now, but Louis only curls towards him a little more, bending his spine.

“What do I need to do, Harry?” Louis asks, resting his head on top of Harry’s, eyes clenched shut.

Harry sniffled, a new round of tears stinging at his eyes, but he takes a deep, if stuttering, breath and says softly, “You need to leave. Please don’t come back for a few days.”

Louis crumbles. 

Harry, for all that they’ve talked about emotional topics, hard times for Louis’ growing up or even watched sad movies, has _never_ seen Louis cry. It’s awful, and he hates it immediately. Louis gets up, though, and Harry lets him, doesn’t move, and Louis walks past Nick on the couch, and hesitates when he reaches the door of the flat. “I don’t want you to be afraid of me, Harry,” he says, so quietly, it’s nearly a whisper. 

Harry swallows down the need to run to Louis and explain everything, to comfort him, to curl up with him. Even when he’s upset with Louis, he can’t help but be drawn to him, and it’s hard. “Give me four days, okay?”

Louis’ breath hitches, and he nods, wiping at his eyes. “However long you want,” he promises, “just text me if you need more time. I –” he swallows, and fidgets, until he asks, voice breaking, “Am I allowed to tell you I love you?”

Harry feels like he’s done enough crying for tonight, so he cranes his neck, still sitting against the doorway to his room, and says, “Of course, Louis. I love you, too. But…but I need some space right now; I need to – to not see you, for a few days.” 

Louis lets out a quiet sob, but he nods again, feeling for the door behind him, grabbing the keys from the hook with his other hand. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I love you.” And then, he’s gone.

The next morning, Nick wakes Harry up by coming into his room and sitting, cross-legged on his bed, complaining that Harry must have let him get run over by a _truck_ last night, honestly. When Harry opens his eyes and sees Nick, he tells him to go, not caring how rude he’s sounding, and tells him he’ll see him at work on Monday. 

Of course, Monday’s an awkward affair. Nick doesn’t seem to remember what’s happened, and he only shrugs and answers with, “I got drunk,” when people ask what’s happened to his face. He’s sad and quiet, now that he’s remembered he’s single again, and normally, Harry would be there for him, but he can’t, not now. 

Around lunch on Wednesday, there’s a delivery of lilies, a half-dozen, to Harry’s desk that he rarely ever uses, and the card has _No pressure; let me know if you need more time. Love, L._ written on it. Harry tips the deliverer and thanks him, and sits down with shaky knees, and gives Gemma a call.

She knows instantly something’s up, and when he tells her the story, she sucks in a sharp breath, and it hits Harry that she’d remember more than he would, being older. 

“I can’t be with a guy like Dad,” he says to her, a little lost, and Gemma sighs. 

“Harry, cut the crap,” she says, a little sharper than Harry expected. “Louis is _not_ like Dad. It’s a natural thing – if you saw Louis’ ex, or something, kissing Louis, you’d be pissed, too. Maybe not _punch-them_ pissed, but you grew up differently than he did. He’s not so against violence, like you are. That’s not a bad thing, either, for you _or_ him. It doesn’t make him a violent person; it means…he doesn’t punch someone and immediately remember being, like, eight, watching someone punch his mother. Or his sister. He didn’t grow up with that, you know? Anyone who hasn’t is going to do exactly what he did. And you know that; you’re a grown man, and you know that. So, what’s the real problem, here? Are you scared he’d do it again? Do you think he’d ever hit _you_?”

“No, no, of course not,” Harry answers immediately, and then considers Gemma’s question carefully as he strokes one of the lily petals. His favorite flower. “I – I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I was just so _angry_ , it felt like he betrayed me, bringing violence into my house when he _knows_ how we grew up. It’s like he just slapped me in the face with not caring about it.”

Gemma sighs again, and Harry shifts, waiting for her to fix it. Whenever she sighs, she’s ready to put Harry in his place and fix whatever _it_ is. “Harry,” she says slowly, “we don’t act like abused kids. You know that, right? Nobody knows what happened when we were little; we don’t act like it. We got _away_ , and got used to nobody ever hurting us. It’s not like Zayn’s grandparents ever were mean to us when we stayed there in the summer. It’s not like we’re afraid of Robin, or like we flinch when people move too quickly in our _normal_ lives. We’re just…sensitive to violence. It’s the type of thing people _forget_ , like, it falls to the back of their minds, because we don’t remind them every waking second that we used to get tossed around a little. It’s not as if Louis just _didn’t care_ ; he probably completely forgot.”

Harry sits quietly on the phone and listens, and finds himself nodding along to her words. He discovers he’s almost offended on Louis’ behalf that he had been thinking Louis didn’t care, rather than realizing that Louis probably forgot, and he lets out a shaky breath. “You’re right,” he says, realizing it very suddenly. 

“Harry,” Gemma says, suddenly even more serious than she’s been so far, “I’m going to ask you this one time, and I want you to forget about how much you love him, forget about how you think anyone will react, forget about what you _want_ , and you give me the God’s honest truth, okay?” 

“Okay,” he says nervously, and Gemma asks her question.

“Do you ever think, even one little bit, that Louis would _ever_ hurt you, in _any_ circumstance _ever_?”

“No,” he responds after a second, trying hard to imagine a scenario in which Louis ever hit _him_ , and he can’t. “No, I don’t think he would.”

Gemma’s quiet for a second, and then she says, a little choked up, “Then, go fix it.”

Harry gets off the phone a minute later and texts Louis, _You can come over for dinner, if you want? Talked to Gem; I’m ready to see you._ He almost puts a _< 3_ symbol, but he refrains, thinking that he _does_ still need to talk seriously with Louis, even if he’s ready to forgive him, and he finishes his day without checking his phone once. 

Harry calls for pizza when he gets home, and it arrives about five minutes before Louis does. Harry’s pacing back and forth between the door and the sofa when he hears the knock, and he rushes to the door, takes a deep breath, and opens it, revealing Louis. 

He looks awful. 

He’s in sweatpants, his hair’s _washed_ , but not _done_ , just pushed back in a headband, and he looks like he’s barely slept the night before. Harry knows he probably didn’t; Louis doesn’t sleep well alone, since he gets so cold at night, even with the heater on.

“Hi, Lou,” he breathes, and Louis smiles a little hopefully. Harry steps out of the way and lets Louis come in, immediately going towards the smell of pizza. 

They load their plates and decide to sit in the living room, with the TV off, so they can at least have an effective conversation and not be held back by such a formal-seeming setting. They sit in silence for a while until Louis blurts out, “I’m going to anger management. And, like, tell Nick I’ll pay for any medical he needs. Or reimburse him, or something.”

Harry stares, a little caught off-guard, admittedly, and swallows his pepperoni only to have it catch in the back of his throat. Fresh off a coughing fit, Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his arm and asks, “Anger management?”

Louis nods emphatically, though he looks unhappy. “I’ve never punched someone in my life, Harry,” he says, looking serious and a little bewildered. “I just – I saw him _kissing_ you, and I – at the risk of sounding like a possessive _asshole_ , I don’t want anyone else to ever kiss you like that. And I guess I just got so angry and then you pushed him back and it looked like he was gonna try to kiss you again, and I just – I just _hit_ him. I don’t even know where it came from.”

Harry nudges Louis’ knee with his toes, stretched on the other side of the couch, and says gently, “I wasn’t upset that you got jealous. That’s – I mean, that’s new, like, you’ve never been a jealous person before, but, I can, like – that’s a natural thing, I guess, right? I’d probably feel the same way.”

Louis shook his head, though, and pressed a finer to his eye harshly before he took a deep breath, shaking himself, and said, “I never want you to be afraid of me, though, Harry. It doesn’t really bother me that you’re upset because I punched your friend; I totally understand that, and if that’s all it were, I’d sit in the doghouse and wait with no problems, apologize, and hope he never kissed you again. But that’s not the problem – the problem is that I was actually _violent_ in front of someone who was – who – as a child…was.” It’s like he can’t even get the words out, getting so upset by the thought of someone hurting Harry. It had been the only time Louis had ever come close to crying, before the other day, in front of Harry – when Harry’d finally told him about his dad. He’d been so distraught for Harry, had fucked him so gently and kissed him so sweetly all over his entire body. 

Now, Harry prompts, “Abused,” and Louis shakes his head, but then nods as he looks up to Harry again. 

“Yeah,” he says, upset. “I just – I can’t believe I did that. But when you flinched from me, I thought I was going to die, and it was completely my fault. I never want to feel that way again.”

Harry chews his pizza, staring at Louis, and then says, “It’s not all your fault, you know.” Louis looks up, confused, and Harry allows him a small, understanding smile. “I talked to Gemma earlier. She made me realize, like, it’s not down to you to always remember little things about me. I’m not saying being abused isn’t a big deal,” he adds when Louis opens his mouth to argue, “but, I mean, it’s not like I act like it, you know? It’s not your fault for forgetting things that I don’t constantly remind you of. It doesn’t affect me, most of the time, so why would you remember, I guess? It’s not – I don’t think what you did was okay, I’m not happy about it at all…but I’m not – I get it, sort of, and I don’t want…you mean the world to me, I love you so much, and I don’t want to – to lose you, not over this.”

Louis scoots forward and reaches out, just a little bit, and sighs in relief when Harry comes to him. He relaxes back against the couch, letting Harry lay on his chest, and strokes up and down Harry’s back. “I don’t want to lose you, either,” he says, “but I meant it; anger management starts tomorrow afternoon. It’s a weekly thing, so, if you – if we, like, start back up, uhm, where we were, then, I’ll be, like, late on Thursday evenings.”

“Louis, you don’t have to take anger management,” Harry says, a little fondly exasperated, though it’s really nice to know he’s making the effort. “You’ve never been violent ever before, and I hardly doubt my friends are all going to start kissing me while they’re completely drunk.”

Louis shakes his head before Harry’s even finished, though. “It doesn’t matter, Hazza,” he says, sounding upset. “You were – you were _afraid_ of me, Harry. I’m supposed to be here for you; I _love_ you. I never want to be the reason you flinch, ever.”

Harry lifts his head, resting his chin, and presses his lips gently against Louis’. “I wasn’t afraid of you,” he explains, rubbing Louis’ chest. “It was, like – so, when you hit Nick, right, it was like I was suddenly a kid again, standing in the hallway next to the kitchen and seeing my dad hit my Mom, and I couldn’t do anything. The worst part wasn’t even that you were hitting him, Lou. I’ve never once thought you would hurt me, ever. It was – the worst of it was that even after I realized, like, _hey, I’m not a child, anymore; I can stop this_ , I _felt_ the same way I did every single time Dad hit Mom or Gemma or me. Every time, I just felt so…useless, and helpless, and that’s what was scary about it. I could deal with bruises. They hurt, but, whatever – I’d never been helpless, before, but I was too young. I was powerless against him to stop him from hitting the people I cared about, and that’s what – it’s, the violence, like, that. Brings it all back, I guess, for a little, and kind of...tricks you into thinking you’re that person, again, and that’s what was going on when you reached for me.”

Louis lets out a tortured sound and wraps his arms around Harry gently, sliding his fingertips underneath Harry’s light cable knit sweater, brushing the sensitive skin of Harry’s lower back. “I am so sorry,” he says. “You’re not useless or helpless or powerless against me; you could destroy me with a few words. That’s all it’d take, and I’d just be done. But I’m – it’s my job to take care of you, Harry. I don’t think you understand how I feel about that. I _love_ you; I want to _marry_ you some day, not make you feel afraid.”

He continues with his speech, but Harry’s honestly just caught up on _I want to marry you some day_ and can’t think of anything else. 

Harry starts kissing Louis’ neck, lightly, and Louis’ narrative trails off soon enough, struggling and then eventually giving up on trying to communicate. Harry grinds his hips gently against Louis’, and Louis breathes out and gently grips Harry’s jaw to bring his lips away from his neck, and kisses him sincerely, hands roaming all over Harry’s body. Louis slides his hands underneath Harry’s sweater as their movements slowly get more frantic, Harry grabbing Louis’ thighs to spread them a little more and wrap them up around his hips. 

“Love you,” Harry says roughly when he’s fully hard. He reaches between them to unbutton his jeans and shove them down just enough to free his dick, and Louis returns the sentiment when Harry helps him with his sweatpants. 

They grind through their boxers, moans quiet and breathy while Louis tightens his legs around Harry’s waist and rolls his hips upwards, into Harry’s thrust down. Harry rolls his hips faster, and faster until he’s panting and Louis’ fingers are digging into his back, spurred on by the thought of how a cold, metal ring would feel against Harry’s back. _I want to marry you some day_.

Harry rests his forehead against Louis’ shoulder and moans, rolling down particularly hard until he comes into his briefs, Louis following suit not long after, toes curling and heels digging into Harry’s butt as he does. 

“Stay here tonight?” Harry asks, and Louis simply hums in acquiescence. 

4). Harry’s parents divorced when Harry was pretty young – eight or nine, maybe – after Harry’s dad had gotten tired of beating his mom and turned to Harry and his older sister, Gemma. Their mom had gotten a restraining order, as well, once the court said there wasn’t enough evidence to put him away legally, and having their dad disappear from their lives so suddenly was absolutely the right thing to do – but the result was that after the divorce, and until Harry’s mom got really serious with Robin, somewhere around ten years later, when Harry and Gem were already out of the house, Harry’s mom was a single mother who worked a _lot_ to make sure Harry and his sister Gemma didn’t suffer from too drastic a change in lifestyle following the split, leaving Harry and Gemma to rely on one another heavily throughout their childhood. Gemma is still Harry’s very best friend in the entire world.

So, since she’s gotten sick, Harry’s been sort of useless. She’s a patient at Johns Hopkins, conveniently enough, so Harry’s team lets him take a second fifteen-minute break to go and check on her if they’re not entirely too busy to spare him. Even if it means Harry comes into work, starts baking E. coli testing samples for twenty-three minutes in the lab, and leaves to see his sister while it cooks, Harry takes it willingly. Gemma’s adjusting, waiting for the chemo to start working, and if it doesn’t, the doctor has some sort of suggestions for as-yet unapproved tests the AMR have been looking at, after amazing studies done by medical students from Baylor University, down in Texas. Harry hates the idea of letting them do anything “as-yet unapproved”, but if there’s a chance chemo won’t work for his sister, he’ll shut up and let her make her own decisions. She’s done well with her life this far based on her own intuition, after all. 

She’s been in the hospital for weeks, now, and Harry’s sort of numbed himself into a routine enough that it only hurts if he actively thinks about it, so he just _doesn’t_. Gemma knows Harry well enough to spot a bad mood from down the hall and to the left, so when she holds his hand through a round of chemotherapy and tells him, sweating lightly, that she’s glad he’s here, but it makes her feel worse when he’s focusing more on her than himself and his life, Harry sees the honesty in her tired eyes and nods, too choked up to speak, because of course. She’s his big sister; she shoulders everything, even if she has no business shouldering it. She’s the reason for most of Harry’s stress, lately; it’s just fact, not that she can help it, but she knows it, and feels guilty. So Harry makes himself stop thinking about it, gives himself thirty minutes every single day to be sad and angry and hurt and scared, so fucking scared, and then cuts himself off and _makes_ himself go out in the sunshine, go for a run, have sex, or snuggle with Louis, who has been so, so wonderful. 

After a short(ish) session with Gem, in which she’s relaxed enough to talk pretty animatedly about how Ashton, her boyfriend, is going out after he gets off work to buy her some new headscarves, Harry feels significantly better. She’d seemed excited about them, and it had been infectious, leaving Harry strangely in an alright mood. Harry’d had to record some data down in his lab book and then drive home, taking up his thirty minutes of sad time, and as Harry walks up the stairs, he’s thinking about all the dishes that need to be done, all the cleaning in the apartment, thinking he should probably definitely give Louis lots of attention, since he hasn’t been getting much of anything from Harry the past few months and even in an extenuating circumstance, relationships take work. 

But he fits the key into the lock and hears the sounds of Louis _wailing_ along to one of those new god-awful Beyonce songs – Harry used to love her, he swears, but her singing voice is lovely and she used to be so classy; she should’ve stuck to that, Harry thinks, rather than change her entire sound and persona just to show that women can be sexy after they have kids, too (though he _does_ wonder why that’s even in question; of _women are sexy during and after childbirth_ , what’s not sexy about a woman _growing and making an actual child inside of her_ and giving it to someone, especially as a show of love?) – and when he opens the door, he’s struck with a sight beautiful in many different ways. 

Louis’ on his hands and knees on the kitchen cabinet, bent over close with his butt up in the air, and Harry’d think it was meant to be sexual but for the way Louis’ leaning to one side. He’s wiggling his butt, though, and even as he scrubs at a spot on the side of the fridge with a Mr. Clean Magic Eraser, he throws his head back, singing like a dying animal along to the song, playing from his phone, lying on the cabinet closest to Harry. Harry watches the white magic eraser move over the fridge, both such a stark color, next to Louis’ tan skin, and has to swallow. At this point, he’s pretty sure he’s more turned on by Louis scrubbing than he is wiggling his ass to sexual songs, which. That’s definitely not something other people could say. 

Harry shuts the door a little harder than usual, and Louis jumps, sliding down from the cabinet immediately and turning around, eyes wide as he clenches his eraser. He and Harry make eye contact for about four seconds before Louis tosses the sponge down and turns off his music, hurrying over happily to greet Harry with a kiss. 

“Hi, honey, how was work? How’s Gem doing?”

Harry’s a little at loss for words; Louis doesn’t clean, and it’s so strange that he starts to clean the day Harry finally snaps out of the funk he’s been in for a few weeks. Maybe he’d gotten tired of the mess the same time Harry’s subconscious had. 

But Louis’ already walking away, looking over his shoulder at Harry to make sure he knows he’s still listening. 

“She’s fine,” Harry finally says, while Louis grabs a spray bottle of Windex and sprays the fridge. It’s not the proper way to clean – Windex is for windows, firstly, and, secondly, magic erasers don’t need additional cleaner; that’s why they’re “magic” – but Harry can’t tell him that, not when he’s doing something so _nice_ and thoughtful. “Making Ashton her personal shopper, getting headscarves, with winter already here. Do you realize Thanksgiving’s in three weeks?” 

Louis pauses his cleaning and looks up at Harry with wide eyes. “Is it really?” He asks, a little shocked. He shrugs it off, though, and continues cleaning, spraying Lysol disinfectant onto the counters and wiping them off with the eraser. 

Harry will have to open a window. 

And also, make sure Louis doesn’t add bleach to anything; there’s already way too much ammonia in Harry’s kitchen; he shudders to think what would happen. Harry takes off his coat and hangs it up, and then moves closer to Louis. He grabs a beer, offering one to Louis, who wrinkles his nose – he hates Heineken, because he’s weird – and pops it open. “Get tired of me not doin’ my job?” Harry asks, a little jokingly, but not really. 

Louis furrows his brows and shakes his head. “Babe, you can’t do everything, you know,” he says seriously. “I think you’ve got enough on your plate, between work and Gem; it won’t kill me to jam to Yonce with a sponge once or twice a week.”

With that, Louis smiles and clambers up on the counter again, letting Harry stare at his ass wiggle when he turns the music back on. Harry leans against the counter for a few minutes, just watching Louis clean and dance, and finds himself getting hard. Setting his beer down a little harder than necessary, Harry stalks off to his room, hearing Louis call to him in confusion, “Everything okay, babe?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Harry calls back, but keeps walking, shutting the door after him and locking it. He sits down on the edge of his bed and then flops back the rest of the way, arms spread wide and wondering what the hell’s been wrong with him this past year. It’s been a long year, certainly, but it’s not like it’s a struggle to remember getting hard as a rock in January over a toothbrush, or shivering a little whenever Louis preened him up a little bit, or _needing_ him when he cooked dinner. For God’s sake, it’s like Harry has some sort of kink for Louis acting like a housewife, or something.

A sudden image of Louis with a ring around his finger, joking and smiling in wedded bliss, catches Harry off guard, and before he realizes it, he’s teasing fingers around the skin near his naval, dipping under the waistband of his khakis. A little amazed at his libido – did he suddenly revert back to being thirteen and aroused by the wind? – Harry unbuckles his belt and unbuttoned and unzipped his pants, reaching down to pull out his dick, wrapping gentle fingers around it. 

To nothing but the thought of Louis’ muscles flexing as he scrubs, the sounds of Beyonce’s filthy sex song, and Louis’ caring heart, Harry strokes himself, clenching and unclenching his stomach, his hips rolling a little involuntarily, fucking up into his own fist, until he comes onto his stomach, dropping his cock with relief. He wipes himself off and decides easily that he shouldn’t be the only one to benefit the sexiness of Louis cleaning, and walks out the door, pants and belt still undone and dangling sloppily. 

Louis’ still up on the counter, scrubbing in his ratty clothes, and Harry sends up a prayer of thanks as he’s able to sneak around behind Louis and yank down his athletic shorts, scrambling to pull his boxer shorts down before Louis whips around, startled and curious. 

Harry only couches down, spreading Louis’ cheeks and kissing all over, and Louis makes a strangled sound when he realizes what Harry’s doing, his hips extending out towards Harry’s face just the tiniest bit. 

“Such a good boyfriend,” Harry hums against Louis’ skin as he kisses the amazing swell of his butt, squeezing and nuzzling against it. “Always doing the nicest things, taking care of me, helping me.” Harry places a firm lick with the flat of his tongue, right up Louis’ crack, and Louis twitches away from it, at first, and then towards it with a groan. “You love me so much, don’t you?” Harry continues, knowing by the flex of Louis’ thighs that he’s getting hard from this.

“More than anyone,” Louis grits out, toes curling next to Harry’s face. 

Harry only hums in response and licks Louis again, spreading Louis’ cheeks apart. Louis reaches back towards Harry, and Harry pulls away. “No, no touching,” Harry admonishes. Louis makes a strangled noise, not up for being bossed around, and Harry explains, “You’ve got chemicals on your hands, Lou; keep still.”

Louis groans and drops his head, folding his arms together on the counter and rocking back onto Harry’s tongue. Harry doesn’t push in yet, knowing it’s exactly what Louis’ looking for, and instead circles around his hole and sucks little kisses and bruises into the skin surrounding it. He palms Louis’ cheeks and slides his hands all over Louis’ thighs, moans against his skin, and when Louis starts whining and rocking back in frustration, he finally, _finally_ , pushes the tip of his tongue into Louis’ hole.

Louis moans, rolling his hips to force Harry’s tongue a little deeper, and Harry grabs his hips, stretching his hands so that his thumbs hold Louis’ cheeks apart and he can press in deeper, curling his tongue and fucking it in and out as fast as he can. Louis swears and mutters Harry’s name, trying to push his hips back and finding he can’t, with the way Harry’s gripping his hips so hard. 

Harry wraps an arm around Louis’ waist to stroke him off and withdraws his tongue, licking around and scraping his teeth gently against his rim. Louis comes with a loud grunt, nearly hitting his head on the cabinet overhead and shuddering when Harry keeps stroking him throughout his orgasm. 

When Louis drops onto the counter, completely relaxed and apparently not caring he’s getting chemicals all over his face, Harry chuckles, wipes his mouth, and pulls Louis down, off the counter. Louis leans against him and lets Harry lead him towards the bathroom, smiling peacefully. 

“Shit, sorry, let me get you,” Louis says, suddenly moving from Harry’s arms to turn around. 

Harry stops him, though, smiling, and shakes his head. “I’m already good,” he says, and Louis’ eyes widen a little bit, and looks smug as Harry pushes him into the bathroom to run a bath.

5). Harry’s waited for the nerves to hit. He’d been thinking that, by the time this day comes, he’d already have turned into mush, or fallen into a curled-up ball of spastic muscle clenching, or something.

And yet, here he stands, his mother in the front row, already pressing a Kleenex against her eyes, with Robin’s big hand on the middle of his back as he leads Harry down the way. Gemma’s standing there, maybe two feet off-center, and her hair’s grown enough that it lays flat and is tugged down by gravity just a little. She’s wearing a dark blue headband, and her dress is the same color, a few rhinestones around her waist. Lou, one of the girls on Harry’s team, is standing next to her, and Lou’s daughter, Lux, has just run back to her dad’s arms, in the front row, her basket of flower petals now emptied onto the ground. 

Harry looks to the other side of the end of the aisle and sees his husband-to-be, standing in a black suit and a dark blue tie, a blue and silver striped handkerchief square peeking from his breast pocket. His hands are clenched together in front of him, and he’s staring at Harry in awe.

It’s nothing Louis hasn’t seen before – Harry’s work _is_ sort of prestigious enough to warrant company parties they have to wear formals for – but Harry blushes anyway, glad he’d gotten this suit actually tailored by an actual tailor, rather than just buying something that fits somewhat-closely to him. He knows he _does_ look a little bit better than he did at the parties; Louis certainly does. 

By the time Harry’s standing in front of Louis, Louis’ got actual tears welling up in his eyes, though he blinks them away rapidly and clears his throat. Robin gives Louis Harry’s hand, and Louis quickly grabs the other one. “You look amazing,” he whispers. He’s never looked so serious and sincere – he’s looking at Harry like he thinks Harry might be some sort of angel, or something, and Harry blushes so dark he feels himself break into a little bit of a sweat.

He looks down at his feet and giggles – and, God, after almost three years of dating, and nearly five years of knowing each other, Louis still makes him _giggle_. He remembers always hearing married couples joke about how, by the time they got married, they stopped crushing on their spouses and stopped giggling or blushing or being amazed, and got really comfortable. Harry’s glad he’s got all of that for Louis, still, and when he looks up into Louis’ eyes again, he whispers, “So do you.”

They had talked about saying their own vows, but Harry gets nervous in front of crowds and while Louis’ okay with _showing_ his affection, these days, he’s still not very comfortable with _voicing_ it where others can hear, so they go the traditional route and let the officiator feed them their lines. When Louis slides the ring on Harry’s finger, he expects to be instantly turned on, but all he can feel is disbelief that he’s met a man who wants to deal with his annoying singing and usually-obsessive cleaning day in and day out for the _rest of his life_. When he slides Louis’ ring on, he feels faint, thinking about how that ring will never come off Louis’ finger, and how he gets to prove he deserves to have his ring on Louis’ finger every single day until they die. 

When they’re pronounced husband and husband, Harry starts crying and puts both his hands on Louis’ face, cupping his cheeks even as he shakes, so overwhelmed, and Louis laughs fondly and pulls him down by the back of the neck and kisses him soundly. There are cheers and cat-calls and whoops and _so many happy tears_ , and when Harry pulls back, all he wants to do is kiss every single inch of his _husband_ and tell him he loves him so much that Louis will repeat Harry’s words in his sleep. 

They reach their spot for the reception – a rented cabin, where their close family and friends can eat and dance, make fun of them and let the little kids run around without worrying they’ll escape, since the doors shut too tightly for a child to open. 

Harry doesn’t let go for a second, except to dance with his mom and Robin and, many times, Gemma, who’s still regaining all her old fire back, but is fairing pretty well. Harry buries his face in her neck and cries, a little more, until Louis cuts in, kissing Gemma’s cheek and hugging her tight before taking care of Harry. 

Harry’s just overwhelmed, is the thing, and when he feels the cold metal against the back of his neck, he knows it’s something he’ll have to explore later tonight. For now, though, he folds himself small enough to fit Louis, and dances with his husband.


End file.
